The First
by The Thirteenth Councilor
Summary: Crouching in the bushes outside the cave that will become famous, Aziraphale meets an old friend.


Hi guys. Lately I've been a bit of a lurker here, but I thought I'd give that a rest and make my presence in this fandom widely known with a little week-late present for y'all. Feedback is love.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership or pwnership of either Aziraphale or Crowley.

The afternoon's downpour has completely cleared the sky of clouds, and left the air in the small village clean, and rich with the scent of fresh mud made from old earth. The _sensation_ of fresh mud, however, is not nearly as pleasant, especially under one's feet. Aziraphale shifts his position, squelching in the dark, to a new, if not any more comfortable, vantage point. Peering past the branches of an unobtrusive bush directly into one of the most important moments in three very important lives, the angel feels the sharp bite of guilt, but he keeps himself carefully silent. He is not, technically, supposed to be here at all, so best not to make his presence known, because he has a feeling that the scene he is witnessing now is going to become legendary, and he'd rather not be featured in it as "the angel hiding in the bushes outside".

She is exhausted, of course, but it seems, somehow, as if she has risen above all physical constraints for the moment. Physically, she is sweaty, dirty and covered in stuff the angel doesn't really want to think about; but her soul, her spirit, her true self is shining past all that with such strength, such power, that Aziraphale can barely look at her. Breathing heavily, she manages to sit up and, after a shaking, wobbly moment of uncertainty, rise to her knees. She crawls through the dirt on the cave floor to where her betrothed is wrapping her child in blankets, and holds her arms out wordlessly. He lifts the wailing child into her arms, then catches her around the waist and helps her sit again.

She is triumph - her expression, her way of clutching the child, her laboured breathing, the odd, defiant glimmer in her eyes all insist triumph.

A rustling disturbance in the scrub next to him pulls Aziraphale's attention out of the cave. He warily takes a step back, eyes trained on the spot the sound came from, searching for a clue as to what -

Oh.

"Hello, Crowley."

"Why, if it isn't old Aziraphale!" The demon grins widely, teeth glinting in the moonlight, and claps his counterpart on the shoulder amiably. "I should've known you'd be here - this being your big moment, and all."

"I suppose it is, isn't it," he says absently, looking thoughtfully to the child in the cave.

"And an excellent job you've all done, too." His voice is teasing, chiding. Aziraphale can't see Crowley's eyes in the shadow of his brow, but he knows they must be dancing with amusement. "That little choral arrangement, for example -"

"You heard that, then?"

"'Course I heard it," he says with another grin that Aziraphale does not appreciate.

"It was Gabriel, you know. He was just so excited about the messenger thing - well, he took it a bit overboard, didn't he? Of course God was all for it. In His opinion, nothing is too much, no choral ensemble is too extravagant . . . It's a bit odd, really, to see Him like this."

Crowley snorts. "Right, because He's always been so sensible before. Not at all prone to unnecessary extravagance."

"Point taken, dear." They turn at the same time to the cave, and watch the small family in companionable silence. She has given him the child again, and laid herself on the cold cave floor. Concerned, he shifts the child to one arm and strokes his betrothed's damp hair. He begins to lower the child to the ground, stops, and looks around for a place to set Him. He settles on an animal feeding trough, and sets about taking off his cloak to give to her. Aziraphale shakes his head sadly.

"Look at this place. It's wet, the animals are filthy, and Christ is lying in a trough." He glances at Crowley. "And what are you grinning about?"

"It's wet, the animals are filthy, and Christ is lying in a trough. I'd call that a job well done, wouldn't you?"

"You mean you - _you_ had something to do with this?" He sighs. "We suspected as much."

"Well I _am_ only doing my job, you know."

"Yes, yes." A pause. "What _did_ you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Lately? I rented four rooms at the local inn." The demon laughs at Aziraphale's scandalized expression. "And three different households have refrained from renting out room because they're holding for me."

"But what do you mean, 'lately'?" Aziraphale catches sight of Crowley's face, and wishes he hadn't asked.

"Oh, nothing much - just referring to a certain census that I may or may not have had anything to do with."

"You _what_? You mean to tell me Caeasar Augustus is -"

"Ours, yeah."

"That's just unfair play, that is."

"Hey," Crowley insists, "it's not as if your lot is playing fair. What about the mother - conceived without original sin? Can He _do_ that?"

"There was a bit of red tape," the angel admits, to which Crowley scoffs. "Oh, all right, quite a _lot_ of red tape. But it's not as if we're safe, even with that little trick. What with Herod," he says quietly.

"Mmm," Crowley agrees. "That. And you can stop looking at me like that, it wasn't me."

"I know."

The stars dance on. The angel and the demon quietly watch Christ and his parents. It begins to rain again, but neither of them are touched. Eventually, Crowley turns to his counterpart. A flash of lightning illuminates his face - mouth set and serious, yellow eyes slightly desperate. He opens his mouth to speak, but the inevitable crash of thunder drowns him out. The demon tries again:

"Aziraphale, you don't . . . Do you think this'll change things? Anything?" The look on Crowley's face is a personification of the nine months of tension since He made His latest move on the vast and very expensive chessboard of the world.

"I don't know, Crowley. We can't know. Ineffability and all that."

Crowley looks intensely relieved not to have been given a straight yes or no. "Fair enough. Well, while we're waiting to find out, want to go into the village for a late dinner?" He looks to the eastern skyline, beginning to lighten. "Or an early breakfast."

"Gladly, my dear." They rise from their bushes, give the sleeping family one last glance, and begin the short trek into Bethlehem.


End file.
